


Patched Up

by wayward_cas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 16:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5212598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayward_cas/pseuds/wayward_cas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas patches Dean up after a hunt and feelings are revealed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patched Up

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading my fic, kudos and comments are appreciated :)

Dean was sitting in the passenger seat of the impala, leaning against the window. He got the short end of the stick this hunt. Sam, who was driving, had gone completely unscathed. And Cas had only gotten minor injuries, now healed. But he would rather it be him than them, Dean thought. He could deal with the bumps and bruises if it meant they were okay. They still had ten more minutes until they reached the Bunker, and the car was silent. Sam would occasionally look over at him from the corner of his eye, but his eyes were stuck on the dashed lines of the road. When Dean looked up at the rearview mirror he saw Cas’s steady gaze locked onto him, eyes concerned.

By the time they finally reached the bunker the sky was starting to darken, the sun almost touching the horizon. Sam parked the car, looking back at Dean, “You doing alright?”  
“Just super.”

Sam rolled his eyes then stepped out of the car. He walked to the back to help Dean out. Cas followed closely, arms half outstretched to help Dean if he fell. Dean would laugh at the overly concerned look on his face if he could but he felt like one giant bruise at the moment. Dean brushed them both off, walking into the Bunker.

There were both like mother hens, Dean thought. Both of them could be on the verge of death and act like it was a paper cut, but when it came to everyone else they were martyrs. Dean had had worse. Hell, all of them had died before. This was like a walk in the park in comparison. Sam could see the stubborn look in Dean’s eyes and gave him space, deciding to look into the dirt-old books stacked up in the library.

Cas was not as easy to appease. He reached forward to touch Dean’s bruised forehead to heal him. He grabbed the angel’s wrist, moving it away from him, “I don’t want you to heal me.”

“But Dean, you’re hurt, let me help.”

“No.”

“Dean−”

“Cas,” Dean said, moving his hand from Cas’s wrist to his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “You gotta take care of yourself. You just got your mojo back.”

Cas opened his mouth to respond, then shut it, squinting his eyes. Turning, Cas stalked out of the room. Dean watched him exit, his shoes clacking against the floor. The sound got fainter as he exited the room, getting quieter and quieter until Dean couldn’t hear him anymore. Dean looked around to make sure no one was in the room and after making sure he was alone, he slumped onto the nearest chair, stretching his sore muscles with a groan.

To be honest, Dean felt awful. His face was littered in cuts and he could feel the bruises underneath his clothes. He just wanted to relax. Dean closed his eyes, relaxing into the chair. He could feel his exhaustion dragging at him, pulling him towards sleep.

“Dean.”

Of course he wouldn’t quit. Dean lifted his eyelids, staring at the angel in front of him. “What,” Dean said gruffly.

“Let me help you”

“I said I don’t wasn’t you to use your powers to fix me.”

“Not like that,” Cas said. He had a first aid kit in hand and a defiant look on his face. Dean was going to tell him no, but Cas gave him a pleading look like puppy who got their toy taken away. Dean laughed, arms outraised, “Have at me, doctor.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Cas set the first aid kit down on the table. He opened it, taking out a thing of bandages. His eyes scanned Dean’s face, catalouging the small scrapes along his forehead and the big bruise on his cheek. He said, “You’re filthy.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Cas sighed, rolling his eyes at the hunter, “Not like that. You’re covered in dirt.”

Dean started to get up, only to be pushed back into the chair, “Don’t get up,” Cas said. “I’ll be right back.”

Dean snorted. Cas was determined. “I’m not a baby, Cas. I can take care of a little cut.”

“I know you can.”

Cas walked out of the room for a moment, returning with a white washcloth. He ran it under the sink, squeezing out the excess water with precision. He walked back to Dean and bent so that they were face to face. They were so close that Dean could see the light blue flecks in his eyes and feel Cas’s warm breath on his face. Cas brought the towel up to Dean’s face and wiped it across his cheek. Involuntarily, he winced, and Cas drew his hand back sharply, eyes wide in concern.

“I’m alright,” Dean said.

“Oh, Dean...” Cas’s hand cradled Dean’s face, his thumb gently rubbing at the purple bruise on Dean’s skin. He finished cleaning Dean’s face, his movements wary. Once he finished, he brushed back a little bit of Dean’s hair. Before his hand pulled away, Dean grabbed his hand and gave it a small squeeze.

“I’ll be alright, okay?”

“I−It’s just that I worry about you, “Cas said, eyes downcast, “I can’t protect you from everything and don’t know how.”

“You don’t need to. We got each other’s backs.”

Dean didn’t know what else to say, so he just sat there, Cas’s hand in his, the dim light casting shadows onto their faces and the silence comfortable between them.


End file.
